


Break me Down (and Build me up)

by ArkadyFlinch



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bisexual Male Character, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Goodneighbor, Grieving, Memory Den, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Loathing, emetophobia tw, just a dude dealing with his emotions and being awkward around hancock, mentions of crushes on p much everybody, pre relationship crushing, some messing around in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArkadyFlinch/pseuds/ArkadyFlinch
Summary: The Sole Survivor is on a mission to track down his son, against all odds managing to survive in the Commonwealth with little to no training or preparation for this post-atomic world.Fish is ill-prepared for the role, and after defeating Kellogg, he's sick and at the end of his rope. He needs rest, but he keeps driving himself forward. It takes seeing his wife die again to tip him over the edge, and he finds himself on a bender with Goodneighbor's own resident mayor.





	Break me Down (and Build me up)

Underneath the burning in his nose and throat, the smell of vomit and stomach acid, under the unique scent of rot and dust that seemed to permeate the ruins of what had once been a large city, he could detect the faintest traces of smoke. Not the smoke of the pyres the super mutants seemed so fond of, nor the smell of burning flesh left over from the fight with Kellogg - though his skin had somewhat healed over the burns still stung - but rather the smell of cigarette smoke. He glanced over his shoulder, and spotted Valentine’s back, politely turned from his position a hundred yards or so down the alleyway. A small stream of smoke drifted up from the synth.

He was smoking again. Though he had no biological need to, the synth took frequent smoke breaks, more and more now that Fisher was sick.

He felt bad, kneeling in this ditch retching and heaving his guts out, spitting and blowing out his nose, clogged with mucus, that he was driving the man to smoke. Moreso that the synth wouldn't even get a fix from it.

Anything would be better, he supposed, than standing around while Fisher stuck his fat ass in the air and his nose in the dirt every few miles they even managed to cover.

He felt bad, nauseous and aching and his skin didn't quite fit right, crawling and tugging over his scalp in an odd way. No doubt, if a clean mirror even existed in the Commonwealth anymore, he'd see exactly the corpse he felt he was becoming. He could tell in the way Valentine hovered nearby, the way those striking eyes of his darted to Fish every time his breathing grew labored. He could tell by the way any merchant they passed walked a wide arc around them, eyes fixated not on the synth but on the sweating, panting, occasionally groaning Fisher.

Sweat dripped in his eyes, not for the first time, and he wiped it out of his eyes, only managing to smear more dirt over his skin.

Gunfire echoed in the distance, punctuated by a super mutant’s bellow, bouncing oddly between the buildings and down their little secluded alleyway. He spat in the dirt, shakily standing to his feet, using a wall to support himself.

There was a scrape of a shoe, Val crushing his smoke underfoot and a soft synthetic clearing of his throat, “Goodneighbors not far off.”

The synth had been saying that all day, since the vomiting had started and Fishers temperature had taken a sudden, sharp uptick and his steps had gotten wobbly.

He'd known drinking the water from that pond had been a bad idea, but between dying of thirst choking on the dust in his throat and taking on just a few more rads...well, Fish had hedged his bets. And now he was paying the price.

No stim packs since their fight with Kellogg and no Radaways since they'd left Diamond City. In reality, only a couple of days, but it'd felt like forever. Now, he couldn't take more than a couple of steps without his Geiger counter going off, he'd muted it yesterday when it just wouldn't stop ticking.

Of course he knew the effects of rad poisoning, but after he'd killed Kellog and dragged himself out of that base nursing some worryingly large and nasty burns from those damn rifles, he'd pushed them forward, desperate to reach some sort of finality in Goodneighbor. He didn't have any caps anyway, and instead of bartering in this post-apocalyptic shit hole, people were more inclined to ask him to go shoot someone else. And, of course, the raiders in question always seemed to camp near big sources of radiation. Or maybe he just was unnaturally good at finding it, he didn't know. Either way, here he was, capless and sick as a dog.

He'd never even shot a gun before in his life before waking up, again, to the sight of Aubrey, limp and cold in that goddamn pod. Of all the things to find in the vault, it'd been giant fucking roaches that put a gun in his hands. Aubrey wouldn’t have broken a sweat escaping the vault, she probably would have found Sean by now, she definitely would have gotten info out of Kellogg before blowing his brains out…

“Fisher.” Valentine brought him back, concern in his tone and hand -the one that still had flesh, or whatever the synth was made of, covering the digits - hovering over his shoulder.

“I’m...I'm alright.”

Unconvinced, Valentine pat him gently on the shoulder, “When we get there, and when you get better, you've got a drink on me.”

Fishs lips curled but his expression was a little too sickly to be a genuine smile. He almost started puking again at the thought of going drinking, but he shook it off and they began walking, slowly, through the city ruins again.

Every step hurt every part of him, muscles tight and knotted, joints worryingly swollen and sore, skin oversensitized, and, of course, the mother of all migraines pounding behind his eyes. The worst part was the fatigue. It gripped him like a vice, making every step much more effort than it should be, wearing down his spirits quicker than learning that his son was being held by the Boogeymen of the Commonwealth.

It wasn't just the water, or the fight with Kellogg, or even the radiation, though all of those certainly helped it. Fisher was smart, he knew how unadapted his system was for this environment. 200 years had passed without vaccines, he was probably fighting off germs the people of his time had never even dreamed of. Frankly, he was lucky he had survived being exposed to irradiated dust, when back home the dust and pollen would keep him home sick at least once a year, sinuses clogged beyond belief. Whatever diseases were floating around, or lying in wait in dirty ponds, his body had to build an entirely new immune system for them, and the rad sickness wasn't helping. He was lucky he'd found a gas mask that covered his entire head, to fend off the sun and the dust, but that didn't negate their effects completely.

If he even sat down and calculated it, he was sure the chances that he'd survived as much as he had would be depressingly impressive. Ambushes, disease, poor nutrition, sun exposure in a world whose ozone layer got royally fucked, bites from monstrous bugs...he was a statistical anomaly.

Fisher froze, crouching down on the balls of his feet, grunting out a soft, “Hold.”

Valentine froze, eyes on him, waiting patiently.

Fish yanked off his gas mask and listened hard. As useless as he was in a fight, he had this going for him, at least. Footsteps scuffed somewhere down the street, and he slowly crawled to the left, waving Valentine to follow him into the shallow niche of a doorway. The alley they were in intersected a thoroughfare, large, decaying overpass shutting out the sky above. The city was never quiet, not even in death. The buildings creaked, and rubble occasionally fell. Sounds from all over the Commonwealth were amplified and transported through narrow streets, bouncing off walls and distorting until it bounced back the way it'd come. The footsteps drew nearer, and Fisher began to hear the rough, deep breathing of the interlopers. Panting, soft and punctuated with a soft whine told him they had dogs. Big ones. Mutant hounds and a couple, maybe four or five super mutants.

He pressed himself tighter against the doorway, sitting down on his knees in case he got dizzy and fell at the worst possible time. Valentine didn't crane his head, didn't attempt to see what was coming, he'd grown to trust Fisher quite a lot, and even though he'd called a few false alarms on occasion, they were in no shape to fight through another ambush.

Fisher watched carefully as the mutants, four, walked into view, accompanied by two dogs, heavy rifles and a couple missile launchers split between them.

He waited patiently. If they didn't see them right away they likely wouldn't venture into a dead end alleyway. Everything could be navigated around, he'd found, even if it meant climbing a pile of rubble or crawling on his belly through a tunnel not quite large enough to fit him. He just needed time, which, unfortunately, was becoming shorter the more fluid he lost in sweat and puke and mucus.

Better than losing blood, though.

His caution was earned, partly paranoia, and partly experience growing up in the city itself, alone and ugly enough to warrant a few beatings for just existing. Born a city boy, he'd had more than enough time to practice getting lost within the streets. Not fast enough to outrun the kids looking to make him an example, he'd learned how to detect a bad situation in the making, mind his own business, and keep his senses sharp. Even as sick as he was, his paranoia did more than enough to keep them safe.

As the hulking figures passed out of view he heard Valentine murmur, “Damn lucky.”

He'd always been lucky in one way, and not the other; the type of luck that took at the same time it gave. He'd been born with a memorable face, but he'd also been born from a hardworking woman who didn’t allow any disrespect to her or her kin. He'd grown to be a heavy boy, but his other talents kept him out of trouble, which, in turn, made him spectacularly bad at physical confrontation. People in his life had been perceptive to notice a connection between the two, but not perceptive enough to notice that he wouldn't have been a fighter anyway, weight be damned. He'd been lucky to meet the love of his life early on, lucky that she'd shared her benefits with him, making his degree not easy, but possible. Not lucky enough to be accepted by any of her friends or coworkers, even after they'd married and had a perfectly (blessedly) normal looking son. He'd been lucky enough to survive being frozen and thawed out twice, but not lucky enough to keep his family. Lucky to be alive right now, but not lucky enough to avoid the rads.

“Damn lucky to be traveling with you,” Nick repeated.

Fisher stood up and ducked his head, still watching the mouth of the alleyway for danger in case it should return, “I’m glad I could be useful for something.”

As they crept toward the intersection, and Fisher felt safe enough to signal the all clear, Nick pushed it, “Don't sell yourself short. A good pair of eyes and ears can go a long way. I woulda walked right into that. Motion detector’s been on the fritz for a few years now.”

Fisher smiled a shy smile, and ducked his head again. He tugged on his gas mask before Valentine could see the flush darkening his ears and spreading down his neck.

They'd only been traveling together a short while, but they got along well together, more than well, he liked to think. After the fight with Kellogg, they'd had a talk about it. Traveling with Valentine reminded him of home, they were both displaced, and it was nice talking to someone who believed in the good in people.

After killing Kellogg, despite doing his best to end things peacefully, sniffling and nursing the burns and bullet wounds, Valentine had told him four simple words that had almost reduced him to tears, exhausted and hurting and hopeless as he was in that moment.

Fisher hadn't believed him, of course, it absolutely was his fault. He should've tried harder to convince Kellogg to stand down, just like he should've tried harder to convince Darla to go home to her family, instead of being blown apart by a mine Fisher had planted once the fight became inevitable. He should have tried harder to escape the cryo pod, just like he should have been holding Sean. So he would have been shot, instead. Fish didn't have any grandiose fantasies of somehow keeping Sean out of Kellogg's hands, should he and his wife have traded places. He did know for a fact, though, that Aubrey, raised and groomed from an early age to join the Marines, would have stepped into this world and instantly changed it. She would've been able to get the info from Kellogg, and sure, he would have had some broken bones by the time she was done, but he would, ultimately, still be alive. She wouldn't be so damn afraid of everything.

Fisher knew part of why they got along so well was loneliness; Valentine was liked by the people but he was still a synth, and Fisher didn't have anyone except the people who kept asking and asking and asking him to run errands, as if somehow by clawing his way out of the Vault he was any more qualified to travel these dangerous lands than other people.

Loneliness, he repeated to himself, rationalizing away the way the synth made him blush, loneliness and dependence on Valentines fire support and knowledge of the Commonwealth. This-this crush was a result of his sudden isolation from everything he'd ever known, not Valentines sarcasm or wit or genuine desire to help. The synth had no business being so charming, so human.

He was still smiling like a school boy, under his mask. Normally he wasn't so quick to blush, but this fever was making him swoon over the smallest compliment.

He coughed, “Let’s go.”

 

They slowly made their way towards Goodneighbor, Valentine giving him directions, and Fish making sure they didn't run headfirst into any surprises. Often they would stop when Fish heard something, or when he needed to dry heave up more bile - he'd long since stopped trying to eat or drink, it would only come back up later - and catch his breath. One more firefight, just a few more rads, and Fisher wouldn't even make it to Goodneighbor, he'd have to ask Valentine to drag him or find a bed to ride out this illness on. He tried not to dwell on it as they circumnavigated group after group of raiders and super mutants. His thighs were burning so much from creeping and crouching behind walls and doorways that whenever he Stopped, he simply sank to his knees and held still, later helped up by Valentine, whose eyes never seemed to stop assessing him.

 

“Here it is.” Valentine broke cover and and waved him up, walking easily to the door. Fish followed on shaking legs, letting out a long, weary sigh of relief. He tugged off his mask, wiping the sweat from his skin. He took the last of the clean water out and drained it - only after he’d drank ditch water did they find a couple of purified bottles stashed away under an overpass - trying to gather himself for the next leg of their trip. He'd been trying to drown his fever for days, but between the low supplies, crossing the country in the sun, and the rads that he soaked up, it hadn't gone well. He needed somewhere cool and shady to rest.

After they found out what they could in the memory den, he was looking forward to sleeping this off. He was no good to Sean dead, and the way Kellogg spoke about him, he was being cared for, at least.

 

It was bright. The walls of the town did not shield Fisher from the sun any more than he had been outside. He squinted and felt a fresh wave of sweat and nausea roll through him. It looked peaceful enough, the people themselves looked a little rough, but who didn't look rough in this wasteland?

Despite what everyone had said about it, Goodneighbor looked blessedly tame.

A man approached them while he was getting his bearings. Clad in leathers, bald, scruff on his face, eerie resemblance to Kellogg. The man took a deep pull from a cigarette stub, then tossed it aside. His mouth seemed to be perpetually slanted in a scowl. Even as he gave Fish a once over, blinked, then did a double take, his sneer didn't budge.

“Hey- whu-holy- uh,” the man quickly regained composure, “Hold up, there. First time in Goodneighbor? ...You look pretty rough, buddy.”

Fisher nodded, sweating and swaying on his feet, waiting for him to finish, happy for the moment to be able to stand up straight without feeling as if he was a hairs breadth away from a hole in the head.

"Ah anyway, you look like you attract trouble, you'll definitely need insurance in a place like this."

Fish squinted in the sunlight, hotly wondering how insurance worked in the post-apocalypse.

“You seem a little slow newcomer, so why don't I make it abundantly clear…You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or things start happening to ya. Big, bloody accidents.” With a grim set to his jaw he stepped forward, and Fish scrambled back, hairs on his neck raising as he confusedly tried to avoid an attack that he wasn't even sure was coming, but then-

“Whoa whoa, time out. Someone steps through the gate the first time, they’re a guest. Lay off that crap.”

Husky, rough, but self assured, the voice put Fisher at ease, made him hesitate in his retreat. A brightly colored jacket approached, and Fisher squinted, then squinted even harder at the approaching man. Ghoul, short, wearing some sort of historical garb, the likes of which he’d seen in the Museum of History.

The thug turned his attention away from Fish, who watched the two cautiously. The thug was looking to start something. He wasn't sure whether he’d be dragged into it or not.

“What do you care, he ain't one of us.”

 

“No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let him go.”

 

Fish heard the click of a lighter and smelled more smoke coming from the synth behind him. If Valentine was relaxing, then he should, too. He slowly relaxed his stiff shoulders and shielded the sun from his eyes to better watch the arguement.

“You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor.”

 

Valentine let out a soft huff of a laugh, but Fish was already stepping forward. “Hey, now, I'm not here to cause any trouble.”

 

The two men ignored his feeble interruption, stepping closer together. By the set of Finn’s jaw, Fish could tell the man wasn't backing down. His hand hovered over the pistol at his side, hesitating. Having the mayor killed his first day here wouldn't be surprising but it would be another burden for him to carry. More guilt to brush aside every time he tried to lay down and sleep at night.

 

Hancock glanced his way and shook his head slightly, tipping Fisher a wink as he stepped up to Finn, arms spreading in a placating gesture.

“Come on, man, this is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something.”

 

He looked for a moment as if he would embrace him, and Fisher dropped his hand.

 

What happened next went by so fast he was still staring, wide eyed as blood splattered at his feet, a warm line of blood sprayed on his cheek.

There was a knife, flashing in the sun, and the wet sound of Finn's body being used as a pin cushion.

Fisher was still gaping, wide eyed, blood running down his face, just under his eye, at the body on the ground, while the mayor cleaned his blade and turned to them.

The mayor was talking, and Fish only half-heard what was being said.

He turned his wide, bewildered eyes to the mayors, and for a moment the heat that flooded his face and his gut had nothing to do with the sun or his fever.

The mayor's eyes were dark, like a sharks, but his smile was warm, bordering on vicious.

His face flushed, and he scrambled for rational thought.

 

“That's alright. Take it all in.”

 

A hand on his shoulder broke Fish out of it, and he stammered out a thanks, finally spitting the words out to the ghouls amused face.

 

“No problem, welcome to Goodneighbor. Of the People, for the people, you dig? Everyone's welcome here, just remember who's in charge.”

 

By the time Fish could think of a reply, the mayor was retreating back to the alley he’d materialized from, and Nick was chuckling to himself, giving,Fisher another squeeze before dropping his hand from his shoulder.

 

“Maybe we should ask the doc to Take a look at you before we use the memory den, you look like hell, Fisher.”

 

He wiped his damp forehead and scrubbed his face with his hand, he felt like hell. As they walked, Nick leading, Fish stumbling in his wake, he berated himself for acting like such a school kid. First the synth, now he was swooning over the mayor. Pathetic.

His wife wasn't even a month dead, too.

The ring squeezed in his swollen fingers, uncomfortably damp and tight, salt and dirt rubbing the skin raw.

He had a mission to do.

 

Valentine brought them into the blessedly cool Memory Den, and he refused to be seen, refocusing on his son.

“After we figure out where he is, I’ll take a break in town afterwards.”

 

It was hard to lie to Nick, those eyes of his saw everything, and he was certain the synth could tell he was lying to him, but he didn't care. He needed to get to his son, to salvage the last of his old life before,it was too late.

Stimpacks could float him a while longer.

 

The Memory Den was, well, if he had to be redundant, it was hell. He was trapped in Kelloggs head, forced to watch clips of the mercs life unfold before him. He didn't care. So the man had lost a wife, a kid,

He had no room for that. Fisher was carrying enough, no sympathy for the man more than willing to inflict the same fate on him and untold numbers of others.

It was going well, until he was in the same vault he’d been in only a few weeks ago.

He froze up, watching Kellog take his son again, watching himself watching his wife die again.

He...he had to do this.

The gun pointed at her chest, he saw the rage and fury on her face turn to pain, then smooth out into the ether.

The shot echoed in his head even as Kellogg retreated, his screaming son in his arms.

 

“Fisher? Can you hear me?”

 

He reached up to touch the glass of Aubrey’s pod, the Memory cracked and tumbled around him. He couldn't follow the memories anymore.

He had to.

 

Fisher didn't feel like himself, he followed the memories in a daze, and then he was face to face with his son. Older, but the boy had his eyes and Aubrey’s face, Aubrey’s hair, Aubrey’s everything.

 

And then he was gone.

 

Fisher came out Of the pod shaking, unblinking eyes stinging in the light of the Den. He stumbled past the doctor, walking to the only person who could keep him from screaming.

 

Valentine was sitting by the door, the synth eyes moved up to him and Keloggs voice issued from his lips, “Shoulda killed you when I had the chance.”

 

Fisher nodded, then left, the voice of the synth following him outside, into the burning Sun. He wandered, bumping into people and mumbling ‘sorry's as he went.

 

Nick found him and grabbed him. Fish shrieked, and the hands disappeared.

 

“I...I can't do this. Not right now.”

 

He felt like he was crying but his face was the same rough mess of skin and sweat. He babbled, saying anything to get the synth to leave him be. Finally, he managed to croak out, “It's time we parted ways. I need some down time. I'll come get you when...when I figure something out.”

 

The synth looked doubtful, but left Fisher to his own devices.

He found a quiet alleyway and collapsed, gagging and puking up the little water He’d managed to keep down.

 

Aubreys face stared at him, in stereo now, eyes open, mouth twisted in dismay, her hands still clutching for her son.

God, it should have been him. It should have been him.

 

Hands seized him, waking him up abruptly, he fought back weakly, yelling and thrashing.

He was hauled to his feet and brought into a building. Two pairs of shark eyes gazed at him. He mumbled and tried to shoo them away, turning into a cot he didn't remember getting in. A needle stuck in his arm and he sighed in relief as his teeth stopped feeling so loose, his skin, for once, feeling smooth and flat.

He dozed, vaguely aware of cool cloth pressing against his face, his throat. At one point in the night he woke, and wandered out of the open storefront.

His body felt league's better, but damn, he needed a drink. He paused outside the bar, cursing, and ripped his ring free, hurling it into the dark, clouded sky.

 

“Fuck it!” he shouted, wiping at his dry eyes and cursing some more.

 

Fisher felt empty as he stared into a glass. He felt nothing as the whiskey slid down his throat. Felt nothing in his pockets, but asked for more. Asked for a tab.

Christ. He hadn't been in a bender like this since before he’d met Aubrey.

He missed them, missed the swirling of his thoughts, the ease at which he turned them to other things.

He watched the singer on stage for a while, Not really listening or thinking of anything. The bartender pointedly asked for him to settle his tab, and all he could find in his pockets was a ring. He put it on the counter and asked what he could get for it.

 

“Whoa whoa, brother, I think you've had enough, let's take this party elsewhere.”

Hands pressed the ring back into his. The texture of them fascinated him. He felt the grooves of the fingers, absorbed in it, as a warm, husky voice escorted him up stairs.

 

He smelled cloves and smoke, though Nick wasn't here and he was laying, boneless on a sofa.  

 

“She saved me more times than I could count.” he said. He laughed. “If she were alive right now she’d kick my ass. Her right hook could kill a man.”

 

“Preach, brother.” The,voice was easygoing. Smooth but gravelly, it put him at ease, urged him on.

 

“She was tough as nails but sweet as pie. She didn't mind my face. Didn't mind my weight. She didn't mind the...the men. She liked to share.”

 

“Sounds like a lady I’d party with.”

 

He giggled, rolling over on his stomach, pressed his face into the arm of the couch and breathed in the moldy stench of it.

 

“She was too good for me. I loved her.”

 

He pulled out her ring, looking at the way it shined golden in the light.

 

“Brother, here's your ring. Don't want to go losing that.”

 

He sat up, taking the ring from the mayor, looking at the two in his palm.

 

Emotion swelled in his chest and came out a soft burp.

 

“She's dead now.” He put them in his,pocket and said, louder, “She's dead and I need to move on.”

 

He hiccupped and groaned, “I need another drink.”

 

“I've got something better than a drink, brother. Breathe deep, and just relax.”

 

Smoke was all around him. In his lungs. In the air, rising from cigarette tips and blunts.

 

Never did anyone touch him while he babbled and cried in turns. He Sat on one sofa, the mayor on the other. If he asked for a drink, he D get one, but as the night wore on, they started tasting more and more like water. Drugs came and went freely, sometimes there were others with him, but usually it was just him and the mayor.

“I like your eyes.” he said, dreamily, then, as if it were important, “Your voice is sexy, too.”

 

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Being a ghoul ain't all bad. Ladies dig it.”

 

“I do too,” Fish said, earnestly, “You made a very strong first impression. Thanks.”

 

“You looked wet behind the ears. Like a scared radstag, sitting there sick as a mutt. Big ole eyes staring at me.”

 

He stared at the smoke as it trailed from the mayor's lips. “That's how I met her. Some military rats had me cornered, calling me patches, chupacabra, golem, whatever they thought was clever. She came at them like a pro, beat the shit out of every last one. She gave me one of their teeth.”

 

“Heh...a shame you lost a bombshell like that.”

 

“I miss her so much.” he swallowed a sob and reached for the blunt, “It should have been me.”

 

For the first time, the mayor reached over, squeezed his knee, “You're alive now. Don't forget it. You gotta live on. For her.”

 

Fisher closed his eyes, “It still should have been me. I'm worthless. She's...she was...perfect.”

He breathed deep, inhaling the Jet, letting it make his world swim and slow, allowing it to take his thoughts elsewhere. He watched the smoke dance as it rose into the air and disappeared into nothing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
